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Just about everyone I grew up with played some kind of sport. Whether it was football, hockey, baseball or basketball, we all played something, and most of us played them all.
During the early ‘60s, Charlestown was represented by three football teams in the Boston Park League at different levels. After the regular season was completed, some of the members from all three teams would get together on Sunday mornings during the winter to play touch football on Terminal Street. It was cold, and it rained and snowed, but we showed up every Sunday morning.
We had “BLT” Tommy Doherty, “YP” Paul Troy, “Tweeto” Eddie Collins, “Puggy” Mitchell, “ON” (pronounced Owen) Lonnie O’Neil, “Flap” Richie Lyman, “Cadillac” Joe Considine and many more. The rules were very simple: One goal line was a telephone pole, while the other goal line was another pole 50 yards away; and three completions over the line of scrimmage was a first down.
After a long Park League season, everyone wanted to play a different position. For example, BLT played offensive center for the town team, but on Sunday mornings, he wanted to be the quarterback. He had a very unique, although sometimes confusing, way of calling a play. One time, he said, “Flap, I want you to go out, not too far, just far enough, and I’ll throw it to you.”
Flap had a puzzled look on his face and questioned the call: “Well, what’s too far and what’s just far enough?”
On another Sunday, when the snow was coming down, we had to step aside for the plow to plow as the snow started to pile up. Looking back, it must have looked odd seeing grown men playing in the snow on a Sunday morning.
Anyway, different game different quarterback: Enter Tweeto, offensive tackle for the Falcons. Tweeto called the huddle: “Look, Puggy, see that snow bank over there?”
Puggy looked at the snow bank. “Don’t look, don’t look, Puggy!” Tweeto shouted.
Puggy replied, “You just told me to look at the snow bank!” Tweeto quietly relied, “Go into the snow bank. They’ll never expect it. Everyone else run the other way.”
The play worked like a charm. Pug, who was in the snow bank, caught a perfect spiral from Tweeto and started running through the waist-high powder. Halfway to the goal line, he ran into a hydrant hidden by the snow.
Cadillac shook his head and said, “Wow, that last guy hit Puggy kind of hard.”
New Sunday, new game, new quarterback: Enter ON, defensive end for the Falcons. He would go into the huddle and with a very serious look, say to me: “Danny, this is your play. This is the play we’ve been waiting for all year. I want you to go up to Bunker Hill Street get on the bus, go to Haymarket Square, do a button hook, and I’ll fake it to you.”
Everyone laughed. We didn’t have any plays. We were just a bunch of football players having fun on Sunday mornings after the season ended. When the game was over, we usually went to Joe’s Pizza Garden and joked about the game.
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